


With a Little Help

by casey270



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Colds and germs, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casey270/pseuds/casey270
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the February <a href="http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/">H/C Bingo</a> amnesty challenge. My prompts were: Motion sickness, Hostile climate, Arena & Comfort food or item, feeding someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Little Help

Touring Japan with Adam was always a highlight, but Tommy could do without the snow. Except this wasn’t a tour. It was a one-off, and snow was the whole point. Some promoter had the bright idea to turn the Sapporo Snow Festival into the biggest concert stage, ever. No genre had been overlooked in putting this together, as far as Tommy can see. There’s Kpop and country represented, classical and metal, rock and gospel, rap and of course, pop. 

And to get things rolling, the promoters had staged a little kickoff in Tokyo, just to give the people a taste and the event a little more publicity, and they’re sending most of the acts to Sapporo on party trains, complete with camera crews to document the debauchery for posterity. 

Normally, Tommy likes both parties and trains. Parties are parties, and trains aren’t as cramped as busses. Their rhythm puts him in to a happy place without the aid of chemicals. But for some reason - probably because keeping this many musicians confined together and drinking for more than nine or ten hours didn’t sound like a good idea to anyone with a fucking brain - this particular route couldn’t be scheduled on a direct train. This trip included a bullet train and a couple of expresses.

The powers that be even have the stops planned, complete with impromptu singalongs and picture opportunities with fans while they switch trains. That’s why Tommy’s here with Adam, instead of flying directly to the arena with the rest of the band. Adam had to sing for the crowd at each stop, and Tommy had to play for him. It’s all production, but the exposure of being included in an event that the whole world’s watching could do wonders for Adam’s career. 

That’s how Tommy justifies it to himself, anyway, before another bout of sneezing hits him. Somewhere between planes and trains and snow and cold and crowds of drunken music makers, he’d caught one hell of a cold. He’d still been good enough in Tokyo, and even when Adam had done a song on a cold platform at the last stop, he hadn’t had too much of a problem. But when they’d gotten back on the heated, crowded train, he’d started with shivers that were so fucking hard he thought he’d shake right apart, and he hadn’t been able to get past them completely ever since.

His head’s all stuffed up and throbbing in time with his pulse, and he can swear it’s just enough out of sync with the swaying of the train to make his stomach want to empty itself all over the cute, little blonde drummer girl who just stumbled into his lap. He really had tried to find a quiet corner, but there’s no such animal on the whole train. All the cars that are open to the public are packed so full of partying music acts that he thinks he’s lucky enough just to find a place to sit down before he falls down. 

Each car has a bar with a bartender who never quits pouring, too. The cute, little blonde drummer girl had a fresh drink in her hand when she stumbled, and now Tommy’s wearing it all over his jacket while she rides his lap, giggling. Under any other circumstance he wouldn’t have a problem with this situation, but today has its own set of rules. 

Instead of enjoying the nice, round ass that’s right over his dick, or the firm, young breasts that are pushing against his chest, he shivers from the cold as the wetness of the spilled drink soaks through all his clothes, and he sneezes right in the poor girl’s face. It doesn’t take her long to decide that rejoining the party people is a better idea than staying with his sorry, infected ass. 

When she’s gone, Tommy regrets the loss of the warmth she’d provided. He shivers harder than he had been and tries to pull his jacket around him a little tighter before he curls up on himself, hoping to save whatever body heat he has left. 

Tommy leans his head against the edge of the seat, not quite on the window. The window’s cold. He can feel the temperature drop the closer he is to it. The outside of the pane’s painted with the tendrils of growing frost, and he might just get lost in their beauty for a minute or two. The branches of icy crystals form slowly, but with determination that Tommy wishes he felt right then. Instead, he feels like a rag that’s been used for cleaning one too many floors: wrung out and used up. 

He sits and tries to pull himself together. They have another hour or so before they’re supposed to get to their destination, and two more hours after that before Adam’s scheduled to go on. He thinks a nap might help him feel better, but every time he closes his eyes, his stomach rolls in protest. He’s quickly reaching that point where his head feels hot and dry while his feet are so cold they actually hurt. If he were home, he’d take his boots off and curl up with a nice, warm blanket, sit back and feel sorry for himself. He’s feeling fragile and brittle in a way that’s not suited for public spaces. 

Tommy can’t handle the noise and bustle of the commotion on the train. The sounds get trapped in the cotton of his brain and echo and reverberate, bouncing off the inside of his skull until he wants to scream. Except it feels like it might come out more like crying than screaming. His eyes are all hot and prickly, and he’s sure that they’d be leaking tears of self pity if they weren’t so dry. 

Staring out at the passing landscape in an effort to tune out what’s happening around him, Tommy fixates on the whiteness. Everything is varying shades and shapes of white, and it all looks so empty and sterile. His brain is lost in the world of nothingness when he feels someone sit down next to him. He thinks that maybe if he doesn’t acknowledge them, they might go away. He hopes they do, anyway, because his misery really doesn’t want company.

He waits it out as long as he can before he turns to give whoever it is next to him the kind of look that might send them away. Except it’s Adam sitting next to him, and Tommy realizes that he really doesn’t want to be alone. He wants to be away from all the strangers and noise around him, but the face of a friend is comforting in the same way his mom bringing him aspirins and juice were when he was little.

Adam looks at him in the way that only Adam can, and Tommy can’t help but let all the shields down that he’s spent the whole trip putting up. As soon as Adam reaches out to feel his forehead, the invisible barrier of attitude crashes into a myriad of tiny, sharp hurts that he doesn’t have to carry alone anymore. It makes Tommy feel all the emotions that fever brings on, and he thinks again that he’d fucking cry if his eyes weren’t so dry.

But Adam knows just what to say to put things back where they belong, because Adam always knows. “You look like shit, Tommy.”

Tommy huffs out a little laugh as he flips Adam off. “Feel like shit, too,” he says as he lets his head finally rest against the cool window. It’s a relief to finally be able to quit pretending that he’s bigger than an ordinary cold, that he’s strong enough to keep partying and drink his way through a tiny temperature. He doesn’t have to pretend that he doesn’t hurt just because he’s a man.

“Come on,” Adam says, taking Tommy’s hand and pulling him up from the seat that’s been his only comfort. “I heard there’s a first aid station set up in the last car. We’re gonna go see if they have anything that’ll help. Maybe some aspirin or something.”

Tommy thinks that any first aid station on this train would be better equipped to handle drunken accidents than the symptoms of a cold, but he likes the way Adam’s taking care of things. Or maybe he just likes the idea of Adam taking care of him. 

Whatever the reason, he lets Adam pull him right down the middle of the crowded cars. He has no idea how many cars are on this train, and he doesn’t even try counting as they make their way to the back. All he can concentrate on is trying to keep his protesting stomach under control. He never noticed it before, but right now, walking to the back of a train that’s moving forward at incredible speeds is not doing his nausea any fucking favors. It’s like they declared war on the laws of nature or movement or some shit, and the battle’s being fought right in his gut.

Tommy does his best to keep up with Adam. He manages pretty well for the first couple of cars, mostly because Adam still has a hold of his hand. But when someone stumbles into him, breaking his connection with Adam, Tommy loses his equilibrium and staggers. He has a second to wonder if he’ll fall before he pukes or vice versa. 

Before he can do either, Adam’s there with an arm around Tommy’s shoulder, helping him keep his balance and the contents of his stomach under control. Adam stays right there, too - something that Tommy’s infinitely grateful for - as they make their way to the last car. Tommy thinks he probably looks like all the other people back here who’ve had more than just one too many. He really doesn’t give a fuck if people think he’s a stumbling drunk, though. He’s got aches and pains in all his muscles and joints, and all he can think about is how the hell he’s gonna be able to play for Adam in a few hours. 

When they finally make it back to the first aid car, it’s almost as crowded as the party cars. It looks like all of them are suffering from overindulgence, and more than a few have their heads hanging over a bucket or wastebasket or bowl. Tommy recognizes the position, and he’d feel sympathy for them, but he’s too damn miserable in his own right. He tells himself that at least they all got to enjoy the trip to their misery. 

It looks like all the professional, medical-type people are running ragged, trying to keep up with the party people, and Tommy doesn’t think there’s much of a chance they’ll even be able to take a look at him, let alone find something to make him feel better. He tries to tell Adam that all he wants is to sit down and maybe have a nice big glass of cold water, because he realized somewhere between the third and fourth car they went through that he’s thirsty as all hell, but Adam has other ideas. They’re better ideas than Tommy’s, apparently, because before he knows it, Adam has him sitting in a seat, a blanket on his lap and one of the medical people is standing in front of him, asking what the problem is. 

Adam always gets everyone’s attention when he wants to.

Tommy tries to protest, saying it’s just a cold, and he’ll be fine if he can just sit and rest for a little bit. Adam isn’t having any of that, though, even if the harried med-tech is willing to let it go. He insists that Tommy needs his temperature taken and and anything and everything done to help him feel better. Adam points out that it wouldn’t look good if he couldn’t perform because they’d stuck him on a train full of germs, and his guitarist had gotten sick.

The implied threat of being called out for not doing her duty is enough to make the tech roll her eyes, but she starts a cursory exam. It doesn’t take long for it to turn into more. She checks his temperature and pulse, his eyes and his throat. She pokes and pulls at his skin and even smells his breath. Then she leaves, saying she’ll be right back.

When she returns, she has a real doctor with her. Tommy might normally worry about that, but he’s too worn out and miserable to even really notice. The doctor doesn’t waste any time, probably because there are so many people here feeling the effects of over celebrating who need her attention. 

She says something about dehydration that goes right over Tommy’s congested head and hands him a tiny cup with a couple of pills in it. Tommy doesn’t think this is gonna be too bad, after all. He’ll take the pills and rest in the comfortable seat that reclines like a lounger. Maybe he’ll even close his eyes for a minute or two. He can hear the doctor talking to Adam, and he knows that one of the pills he took is for the fever and aches. The other one, apparently is to help him rest and relax. Those, combined with the IV fluids they’re going to start, the doctor tells his boss, should help him feel better very quickly. 

There are a couple of things in there that he knows should bother him. First, he hates needles. Always has and probably always will. Second, one of those pills sounds like the kind that might make it hard for him to play, or at least play what he’s supposed to play when it’s Adam’s turn to take the stage. He can feel his brow furrowing in the over exaggerated way that most of the drunks in this very car would be familiar with, and he opens his mouth to tell this doctor what a stupid thing to do that was, but Adam’s there with a hand on his shoulder, telling him to just relax and let them take care of him. 

Maybe it’s how warm and strong Adam’s hand feels where it’s still resting on his shoulder, or maybe the happy pill the doc gave him is kicking in, but that sounds nice, dammit. Tommy really is starting to feel foggy and groggy, but he’s still cognizant enough to know that Adam will do whatever’s best in the situation. Knowing that he can just lay back and let Adam handle it makes him smile, and that makes Adam smile. Tommy likes looking at Adam when he smiles. Fuck, he likes looking at Adam just about any time, but especially when his eyes shine with happiness and friendship. He’s so occupied with looking at Adam’s face that he doesn’t even notice the med tech coming back with the IV until he feels the needle prick. He thinks he mumbles something about _Distracting fucker_ in Adam’s general direction, but he’s floating into a quiet, little nap, and that’s just fine and dandy with him.

~*~

When he wakes, Adam’s still there. Or there again. He’s not sure which. All he knows is that the train is slowing down, and Adam’s shaking him to wake him up.

“Feeling any better?” Adam asks, looking at him closely, like he’d be able to see the germs nesting on him or some shit.

Tommy means to to tell him that he does feel better - a lot better, as a matter of fact - but his mouth hasn’t quite gotten the message that’s he’s awake yet, and all that comes out is a muffled ‘Mrmph’. 

“We’ll be at the station soon, but they said it’ll be about half an hour until we get off,” Adam says, like Tommy’s answer before wasn’t complete nonsense. “The doctor said you should be fine. Your fever broke while you were sleeping, and the fluids seemed to help. She said you need to drink a lot, though, but not alcohol. You have to rehydrate yourself. And eat. If you can eat something, she said you should probably feel strong enough to play.”

Adam makes a sweeping gesture towards a tray of food next to him. As soon as Tommy sees it, his mouth starts watering. Actually fucking watering. It feels like he hasn’t eaten in days, and he realizes it’s because he hasn’t eaten since before the train ride from hell started. His stomach, which had protested at even the thought of food before, now seemed willing and able to accept a generous offering of whatever Adam had brought. 

“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, and the doctor said to keep it light, so I hope you like chicken soup.”

Tommy reaches out, expecting Adam to hand him the bowl, but instead, Adam says, “She also said you’re supposed to rest as much as possible, so sit back and let me do this.”

Adam has that note of authority in his voice, and Tommy wouldn’t argue with him even if he wanted to. The strange thing is, he doesn’t want to. Not even one little bit. He’s absolutely fine with letting Adam feed him spoonful after spoonful of the soup, and he can even swear that it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

Tommy’s sorry when Adam scrapes up the last spoonful from the bowl, but everything flashes back to the right side of the scale when Adam picks up a bowl of fruit pieces that Tommy hadn’t noticed. He doesn’t even make a pretense of protest when Adam starts feeding them to him. He just lets all the warm feelings wash over him. 

Adam even helps him make himself presentable. There’ll be plenty of fans waiting and watching as the performers leave the train and make their way to the arena. It’s all planned for maximum exposure, after all. 

Tommy’s feeling much better, and he thinks he’ll even enjoy performing for the huge audience. With a little help from his friends, of course.


End file.
